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Suddenly there are steady, sturdy hands grasping at his waist, his back — pulling him in close and one of those hands comes to rest at the back of his neck, cradling him, and making his face rest against coarse dark fabric. Xiao Xingchen does not have time to make out who his saviour is but from the length of his body he can tell that the other man is tall and he throws himself through the window back first, glass shattering at the force as this room was never meant to keep prisoners in, still holding Xiao Xingchen as intimately as a lover would as they fall through the air.
He barely has time to take a breath before they hit the water, mouth half open and filling up soon as they sink into the murky deep grey depths. Panic rises in his chest, still held pressed against the other man’s chest, but with a few strong kicks they break the surface. The pressure at the back of his neck lessens, and he moves back to inhale deeply.
“Zichen!” he gasps, knowing he shouldn’t feel lighter at the sight of a familiar face, not when Song Lan—
“Xingchen,” Song Lan says, interrupting his thoughts as his hold remains around Xiao Xingchen’s waist. “We don’t have much time.”
“They’re—”
“It’s a coup,” Song Lan says, face twisting with uncharacteristic anger, but his eyes are filled with worry when their gazes meet. “You have to believe me, I didn’t know.”
Hearing someone else say those words makes his heart race. Xiao Xingchen ignores the long tresses of hair sticking to his neck, the side of his face. A military takeover, is the official wording that has been used by the men who took him from the throne room and into the much less used northern wing of the fortress. That Song Lan, a senior ranked officer, wouldn’t know of it… it sounds almost ridiculous, even when taking his position as the prince’s bodyguard into consideration.
But only almost.
“I know you,” Xiao Xingchen says.
Xiao Xingchen understands immediately that there is no plan. It's a good thing that Song Lan is so good at thinking on his feet — that they both are.
There is a hangar on the palace grounds that has fallen out of use since decades ago and it should hold a still functioning spacecraft or two, even if they're bound to be a few models out of date. Not too many people know about this hangar, not even among the top officials or the staff. Hopefully, and hope is what they're running on in this moment, it has not yet been reached or found by these armed forces. The chances are slim, but not impossible. Xiao Xingchen still has not been told who is behind the coup, and now isn’t the time to question Song Lan about it either.
Their clothes are heavy and sopping wet from the lake, impeding their movements, causing them to take extra care to cross the distance. The landscape is terrible to hide in dressed as they are in pure white like fallen snow and true black like the darkest of nights, consisting of rock formations and gravel and the staccato appearances and smaller stretches of dry fir trees with needles that seem more grey than green once they’ve left the immediate vicinity of the lakeshore.
Xiao Xingchen is aware though that this disused hangar still exists for a reason, why it isn't common knowledge. Why it doesn't exist in official records. He wonders if any of the other few people who know of it are still alive and able to give their secrets up.
The years of training in the military academy offered to all adept students had ensured Song Lan had adequate knowledge on how to get them onboard and ready for take off, grunting only a few instructions to Xiao Xingchen as the rest of the work went by through pure muscle memory and familiarity with the inside of the cockpit. It was easy to forget how talented a pilot Song Lan was when he’d been bound to the ground for so much of his service by Xiao Xingchen’s side.
Song Lan cusses under his breath. It both piques Xiao Xingchen's interest and causes a new flood of worry.
"What is it?" he asks. The screens before him with all their information are beyond his grasp, numbers and symbols and shining pinpricks of lights that hold no meaning. Song Lan navigates them with relative ease, though still unused to the layout and the system. Just one look at the shuttles from the outside had confirmed that they were a little bit more aged than what would be ideal, gleaming copper coloured metal panes just a tad rusty around the edges.
"This thing is ancient, booting it up might take longer than we have."
The words are far from reassuring, but Xiao Xingchen appreciates the taciturn honesty Song Lan offers. He swallows to wet his dry throat. "We don't have another option."
"We don't," Song Lan agrees, grimly. His eyes are locked on the screens, fingers on his right hand moving over the levers and latches as his left hand presses buttons, typing. Xiao Xingchen hates the wait, hates how he can't do a thing. A prince he may be, but he is not only an inert figurehead who only poses for the holos and media. Royal roles are not hereditary here, he was elected through divination, his star chart deemed the most suitable to lead and act politically leading him to be raised accordingly. Xiao Xingchen has received the finest education in the known galactic space.
However, piloting a spacecraft has unfortunately not been one of those things, and it had never been one he felt so inclined to learn on his own. If— when they make it out of this, he will ensure Song Lan teaches him how. It has been a grave oversight for them to believe he would always have personel around to take care of him.
Song Lan was already injured from earlier, bleeding profusely from wounds he claimed shallow; Xiao Xingchen has already been checking the programs on the medical droid to have it ready to scan or assist the moment Song Lan would be able to activate the autopilot for the shuttle. Xiao Xingchen misses the feeling of a blaster in his hand. The shape of this metal is all wrong.
The low buzz and whirs from the systems coming to life fills the silence, but is not so loud that they can not hear the swift hissing of the doors to the hangar’s entryway unlatching and being pushed open. Xiao Xingchen inhales deeply.
"They've found us," Song Lan says quietly. Their breathing echoes in the cockpit.
"They've located the hangar," Xiao Xingchen replies, just as quietly. "How much longer now?"
"Not much."
The reconnaissance team that enters the building isn't big from the sounds of it, quiet as they try to be. A handful at most, but likely not even that. Wordlessly, they sink to the floor to keep out of sight. One of Xiao Xingchen’s shoulders aches from when they hit the water earlier and it is becoming more incessant with time.
"If I don't return," Song Lan says, like it's the most normal conversation they could possibly have, "all you need to do is press this button, and you'll be off. I've set the coordinates to take you someplace you won't be found."
As if Xiao Xingchen would allow that to happen. He might have lost his crown, his title, his nation. He refuses to lose more. He watches Song Lan leave and waits a few moments, seated on the floor. He places the droid beside him, putting it on stand-by. No untimely beeping to interfere. Their tracks shouldn’t have been obvious and the element of uncertainty, or perhaps even surprise, is still on their side. There would have been a larger team present to make their task easier otherwise.
It takes some searching but he at last finds the small, woefully under-stuffed armoury. The blaster he grips is too large compared to what he prefers to use. Clunky. Old-fashioned in the same way the shuttle is. It is however a state of the art piece of craftsmanship even so, and the trigger rests beneath his fingers like a comfort.
If Xiao Xingchen knows Song Lan as well as he thinks, he knows that Song Lan will attempt to position himself in such a way that their attention will be diverted and misled, to believe that Xiao Xingchen too is in that direction. That would mean— he catches sight of Song Lan, a black form moving in shadows — but so openly it was as if he forgot he didn't need to play decoy.
Song Lan shoots one of his assailants with a steady hand, despite the hand he has clamped over his own eyes, his agonised keen almost impossible to hear over the sound of the shot. His body is held steely firm, a small convulsion running down his spine that he can not hide. Xiao Xingchen hadn’t seen exactly what had happened, can only surmise that whatever it was had added to the already existing injury. There is no time to consider all the possibilities now though, and Xiao Xingchen takes the other mercenary out with a clean headshot. He hurriedly runs over.
“Zichen,” he says, announcing his presence, Song Lan looking around almost blindly.
"Xingchen?" Song Lan asks, sounding almost enraged, "leave at once. Before any more of them--"
His voice dies in his throat, another convulsion rippling through his body that tears another pained sound from him. Xiao Xingchen grabs Song Lan, hefts his arms over his own shoulders and half-carries, half-drags Song Lan back to the spacecraft. The medical droid should be able to help, he hopes, once they get away from here and out of the most imminent danger.
Xiao Xingchen attempts to lead Song Lan to the sleeping quarters, to have him sit on the cot but Song Lan refuses, digs his heels in and pushes on toward the cockpit. Xingchen would attempt to argue, all he has to do is press the button, but Song Lan’s demeanour has him remain quiet. The passiveness he has no interest in comes again, and that feeling more than anything affirms that he does not regret going out there. For now, this time, he will follow Song Lan’s lead though.
Song Lan grunts when he hits the seat, taking the controls into his hands. He wipes at his eyes, squinting — and Xingchen wonders with a tinge of panic, frantically locating the medical droid again, how much he can see through the welled up wetness. Song Lan’s fingers drag over the panels and buttons until they land on the correct ones. Nausea settles in, building a home in Xiao Xingchen’s chest. He waits.
The medical droid beeps, confirming all worries Xiao Xingchen had. The injury to Song Lan’s eyes were grave, leaving him entirely blinded, the globes entirely ruined and necessitating action at once. The rushed breath that leaves him does little to calm his reeling mind, the pounding of his heart.
The rusty old shuttle is as far from an ideal spot for surgery as can be, but he— he has to, has to do it, can’t wait, there’s no time. Song Lan lays unresponsive, out cold, on the only cot. Xiao Xingchen had dragged him over once the autopilot had kicked in, Song Lan’s grasp of the controls slack.
With trembling hands Xiao Xingchen lifts the instrument, nausea threatening to turn his stomach upside down and inside out before he has even begun. He bites back the bile, tries to steady his hand.
Pain is something Xiao Xingchen has experienced more now than ever before. He still hasn’t grown used to it.
“Where could we even go?” Xiao Xingchen says. His voice is soft. Almost faint. Song Lan’s gaze is averted, flickering between the radar on the dashboard and the empty darkness outside the window. Xingchen’s head throbs, slightly.
Song Lan adjusts the eyepatch covering his empty socket. His body has taken to the eye transplant better than Xiao Xingchen ever had hoped, technology and medicine ensuring there were no greater mishappenings, that the process went smoothly. Xiao Xingchen can not remember much from that time, blacking out not too long after he’d gotten the healthy eye out. Song Lan still had issues looking straight at him.
Jinlintai is in spite of its name nothing as simple as a tower; it is a behemoth of a structure. A space station so large that it is better called a small planet. A show of the wealth of Lanling Corp, where its head can host a court if he so well pleases. It is gaudy, though Xiao Xingchen would never admit to thinking so, used to the ascetic cleanliness of his former home.
Seeing at a distance in space, is interesting though. It gleams gold in the never ending stream of sunlight, reflective but not entirely specular. It seems almost warm, a small sun of its own. With nothing else too close to compete with it, a larger sun than any other star. It is intentionally made so, anchored at these coordinates, so perfectly positioned to make it have no competition.
His teacher had said no comments made in judging, but he could always pick up on the rare moments of her disdain. He doesn't blame her for it.
Xiao Xingchen curls up further in the window seat, the haphazardly thrown blanket comfortable beneath him even if it doesn't do much to lessen the sturdy rigidness of metal.
"What are you thinking about?" Song Lan's quiet voice breaks through his reverie.
"Is it safe for us to travel so close by Lanling?" Xiao Xingchen replies. "Not that I... I know you wouldn't put me in danger."
Song Lan's expression darkens, marginally. A fraction of emotion displayed. Xiao Xingchen worries he might have said the wrong thing even when trying not to. He looks back out through the window. At the void, at the distant stars, at the not nearly distant enough Jinlintai.
Mirrored in the glass is Song Lan standing behind him, outlined with pale light. His hair doesn't appear as perfectly sharp as it would usually.
"It's the fastest route we can take that still minimises the risk at hand Lanling represents," Song Lan says at last. He doesn't sound too happy about it; Xiao Xingchen can not always tell what is on his mind, but he has gotten good at telling the small nuances at what Song Lan does offer.
Logically, it makes sense. Xiao Xingchen nods. "And taking too slow a route would risk them catching up with us."
His words smoothes out the trace of tension in Song Lan’s face.
Xiao Xingchen wakes up with a startle. Something happened in his dream that he can not recall. His empty eye socket throbs with his racing heartbeat. Sweat runs down his spine, soaking into the thin linen. He lays on his back, panting, open mouthed and with some effort to not be too loud. The warm press of Song Lan's body helps ground him, a focal point of contact that tethers him to wakefulness above whatever remnants of darkness still clinging to the corners of his mind.
The cologne Song Lan wears is discreet, almost unnoticeable unless someone is this close. It matches him well, Xiao Xingchen thinks, some type of pine or woodsy. A very natural scent. They didn't have any such trees at home, but he knows they had where the Academy recruits lived and trained.
For not the first time, he wonders if Song Lan considered that place home. Not one to often censor his thoughts, there was something holding Xiao Xingchen back from asking that question. He worried the answer would be 'yes'. That is easier to admit in the dark, when he is the only one awake. His breath shudders slightly, emotions grabbing him ahold; throat constricting tightly.
Xiao Xingchen cares about the man whom he calls friend, and can not bear the thought of saddling him further or locking him into a situation in which he thinks he has no option but to comply with Xingchen's wishes.
The manner in which Song Lan approaches his job sometimes makes Xiao Xingchen wonder if they can even be called friends. If this was just another way in which Song Lan indulged him. The lines are so blurry.
Still, he allows himself to find comfort that Song Lan no matter the reason felt that his duty was to ensure Xiao Xingchen's safety when it would have been a lot easier and posed a lot less risk to comply with the coup.
The steady rise and fall of Song Lan's chest, his silent breathing, is another comfort. Xiao Xingchen turns onto his side. He presses the palm of his hand to the eyepatch, applying gentle pressure. He can't stand knowing that he is the reason Song Lan almost lost eyesight entirely. That Song Lan lost so much more than that.
All for duty. All for him. Something small and guilty resides in Xiao Xingchen's chest at the warmth that thought offers him.